


Kisses That Last Too Long

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, F/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pseudo-Incest, Secret Relationship, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When recently widowed Petyr Baelish, and his teenage daughter Alayne, move to a small English town in the countryside, they cause quite the curiosity, and Harry isn't sure if he likes his new neighbours.</p><p>He can't quiet place his finger on it. She's pretty, and she smiles at him, but there's something off about this girl and that father of hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was something off about that dark haired girl down the road and her ever smiling father. 

They just didn't fit. Not here, not in this neighbourhood. This was a small but wealthy town, with a tight knit community, and Petyr Baelish and his daughter Alayne had landed right in the middle of them with no warning. They'd moved in out of the blue to the house across from his, the sale sign coming down the very day they arrived.

Of course everyone wanted to know about them. Small towns were like that. You knew everyones name, family, and business, and preferably, you were able to know any shred of a secret they might have had too.

But it had been months now and what did they all know about Petyr and Alayne Baelish so far?

They were close. The mother was recently deceased. An illness, they said. The father used to work in finance, but had taken leave off work to deal with the loss. Alayne had entered Harry's class at school mid term and seemed to be a good student. 

And really that was as deep as it went. 

Other, more nosy neighbours, tried asking more about the mother, about where they'd lived before, about why they moved here, but all these questions were given short answers and curt smiles.

Harry didn't have a good reason, but he didn't much like Alayne at all.

She was quiet, but didn't seem shy. She walked with her gaze straight ahead, as if she looked past everyone, barely acknowledging them. When she spoke, she spoke well, usually when called upon in class. He did see her sitting and talking with other girls occasionally, but mostly she seemed on the sidelines. She probably could make friends very easily, it was just as if she chose not too. 

A lot of other boys in their class, and some above and below too, thought she was hot.

He wouldn't use the word hot. Pretty, maybe, but then again she wasn't his type. Her hair was lovely and long, but her pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and pale blue eyes made her almost severe. Her legs were nice, but she was too tall. Taller than most boys in their class, and only half an inch shorter than Harry himself. And as he said, her personality had done nothing to endear herself to him.

She seemed stuck up. Distant. Fake. Everyone else seemed to think she was friendly enough, but he saw through it.

There was one instance he had stumbled upon one day after class. He'd left behind his textbook, and as he walked back towards the classroom, he's noticed the old math teacher alone with Alayne. He'd hung back outside the door, unnoticed, as he listened to her use a voice he barely recognised on her. Sweet but low, the words drawling together as she seemed to lean ever closer to their miserable old teacher. He'd cottoned on to what she was saying. She was so dissapointed by her grade on the last test. Sometimes it was hard to focus. She still found it hard to adjust here...but she said as she leant too close, bit her lips, touched his arm..

The teacher ended up giving her a worksheet. Told her that if she took it home and did well on it, he'd add on the marks to her grade so she wouldn't fail.

Her little thank you had been so simpering, and the look the teacher gave her so sickening. Harry had left his text book behind and left. He didn't know what to think about it, so he didn't. It only added to the fact that something was off about her.

 

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Harry was leaning against the school gate after the bell had rang, waiting to be picked up, as other kids ran to their mums cars, or walked down to the lower school building to pick up younger siblings, or headed off to friends houses.

He wasn't looking for her, his eyes just happened to land on her, as Alayne breezed past across the lawn. She'd taken her hair out of the school standard ponytail, as she took long strides towards a sleek grey car. 

Harry saw her smile as she opened the passenger side door and slip into the front seat, and he frowned as she leaned across and give her father a kiss.

Maybe it was the distance, or the angle was strange...surely that had not been a kiss on the lips? It had only lasted a second, maybe two. Maybe it was just a badly judged aim for the cheek. But her lips had been on his.

“And what are you glaring at?” Came the sing songy voice of Myranda, as she dumped her bag down on the grass and pulled herself up to sit on the school gate.

“Wasn't glaring...” Harry murmured, as his eyes followed the grey Mercedes as it pulled away from the curb. 

It had been nothing, he decided.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He tried to ignore her at school, but the more he seemed to consciously keep his mind off her, the more she was just...there.

He would leave class to take a note to the office, and she would be in the hall by the drink fountains, head tilted over the water, her lips wet and parted as she would look up at him as he walked past.

He would be in the library and he'd turn a corner, and she'd just happen to be sitting down on the carpet at the end of the aisle. He didn't know if she watched him or not, as he quickly grabbed a book of the shelf, since he tried not to look at her.

Every time she passed him, he noticed now. She'd started smiling at him whenever he was too slow too look away and they locked eyes. Like she thought it was funny.

And he'd taken to watching for her every day after school now. Would watch as she walked to her car, watch as she kissed her father on the lips each time, and drive away smiling.

Was he the only one who noticed?

“Myranda, you talk to Alayne don't you?”

Myranda looked up from her phone. She knew most things about most people.

“Yeah, why?”

“Doesn't she seem a bit...off...to you?”

Myranda's look was scrutinizing. Great. He shouldn't have said anything. She was going to read something into it.

“Off in what way?” she asked.

He wanted to backpedal immediately “I don't know. Forget it. She just seems weird.”

Myranda laughed “Well, she's quiet, yeah, but she has just come to a town where we've all pretty much known eachother since we were fou.r”

“But she doesn't make much of an effort though, does she? You never see her come down into town on friday, or go to Westfield on late night.” he said, speaking of the two most prime social hangouts for anyone their age.

“Why don't you invite her then, if you really want to hang out with her.”

“That wasn't-” Harry spluttered “It's not like I'm bothered. When I said I thought she was weird, I meant it.”

“Sounds like something five year olds say when you ask if they fancy the girl they just pulled the plaits of.” Myranda said with raised eyebrows.

“I don't fancy her.” Harry said resolutely, thinking of her water stained lips and her smiles.

O0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was maybe a month later that it was parent teacher night.

It was close to six PM and his Aunt was still inside the classroom with the teacher, while he'd been asked to sit out here in the hall outside.

Courtesy chairs had been placed each side for people to sit, but it was late now, and the hall was empty. He was slumped down, bored, when he heard the tapping of feet on linoleum tiles.

Of course it had to be her. It had to be them.

He had his eyes fixed down at his feet as Alayne and her father took seats opposite him.

She had on a little powder pink skirt and a cardigan, flats with small heels that made that tap tap tap on the tiles, and her hair was loose. Mr Baelish sat besides her in a suit, looking formal, even for a simple thing like parent teacher night. 

They were so very polished, Harry thought. Dressed well. Impeccable posture, the both of them. His Aunt liked Mr. Baelish, she'd said, after running into him at the post office, and the grocers, and out at the park. She thought he was charming, and so sad what had happened, losing a wife, oh but didn't his daughter seem sweet though? His Aunt would gush over her manners, as Alayne was most often with her father, both of them out in town together, and my wasn't she pretty too? She was always asking if he saw her at school now. If she'd like to come round for tea. Harry would mumble something about being in different circles of friends, avoiding the topic of Alayne Baelish as best he could.

She broke the silence first.

“Hi, Harry.” 

He glanced up, and she was smiling at him.

“Hey” he said back, sitting up a little straighter. Her father watched him too.

“Oh, so you're Harry then, are you?” he said, with a knowing tone. Harry didn't know what to say to that, but Alayne blushed a shade of pink, giggling nervously as she slapped lightly at his arm 

“Daddy, don't!” 

“What? It's just good to put a face to the name. I've heard a bit about you,” Mr Baelish nodded at him, and Harry felt his own face redden as Alayne flicked her eyes to his for half a second, before bashfully looking at the floor.

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“Do you ever call your dad, daddy?”

“What?” Myranda pulled a face at him as they waited in their usual spot against the school gate “Why would you ask that? No, not since I was, like...nine or something.”

“Yeah, well, that's what I thought,” Harry blustered “It's weird right? Alayne said it, the other week, and it's just been....I don't know. It was weird.”

Myranda seemed to look at him strangely for another few uncomfortable seconds, before she shrugged “I suppose it's a bit weird, but she is an only child...and a bit posh. Probably spoilt. Those kind of girls are the ones I'd peg as saying 'daddy' out of anyone.”

Harry tried to let that line of thinking settle him, but then a familiar Mercedes drove up, and Myranda was still talking, but he wasn't listening, as Alayne crossed the grass towards the car.

As per usual, she opened the passenger door, tucked her school skirt under her bum as she slid in, placed her bag at her feet, and then turned and kissed her father right on the lips.

“It's because it's a bit of sex thing now, isn't it?” Myranda pondered out loud “Like Lana Del Rey, and all the rap videos. Sugar daddies and all that stuff. Guys wanting to be called daddy in bed.”

“Yeah, see, that's fucked up. Guys don't want that, not normal ones. It's so creepy.” Harry said with an anger he couldn't explain, Alayne's giggle ringing in his mind, her soft honeyed voice saying 'daddy' in exactly the way he remembered. Like it had been imprinted on his mind.

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The first guy who claimed to have fucked Alayne Baelish was Marillon.

“No you did not,” Harry spat at the renowned liar, and all about twat, as he regaled them in the boys change rooms with an obviously made up story.

He'd run into her shopping in town, alone for once, talked to her for a bit, had her tell him her dad was out for the next couple hours, and did he fancy coming back to hers? Yeah, fucking right.

“Oi! I so did! Swear it on my life!” Marillon had the gall to act offended.

“Wha's her tits like, then?” came a question from the enraptured crowd, and Harry scoffed.

“Mate, he's never seen her tits, he couldn't tell you.”

“Small, but good,” Marillon continued on regardless, artfully ignoring Harry, as he was glad for the audience “Perky little handfuls with pink nipples, but lads...I can tell you,” and the prick even paused for dramatic effect “not a hair down there. Pulled down her knickers, smooth as anything, not even stubble.”

His audience let out a collected murmur of approval, and Harry turned away, hurrying to change and leave.

As he watched Alayne at the school gate that afternoon, his eyes flicked to the hem of her short school skirt, and had to will away the thoughts of her bare cunt, as she kissed her father in the usual fashion.

 

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	2. Chapter 2

Harry stared resolutely down at his drawing, the graphite pencil clutched tightly in his hand, mindlessly shading over the same area over and over and over as he refused to look up again.

Stop it, just stop it! He wanted to snap at her, his mouth set in a taut line, his toes curling in his sneakers in an anger he had to suppress as they sat in the silent art room.

The teacher had arranged their desks in a square around the room, all facing into the display of fruit and flowers and brick a brack they had to sketch.

Harry hated art.

He always had, even before her, but now it was worse.

She always sat right across from him like this. 

On purpose, he knew now. She had to be doing this on purpose. 

He shaded and shaded and shaded, harder and harder, pressing down on the page, going over the same spot, the scratch of the pencil loud in the silent room.

“Harry, easy on the black, you only want a subtle gradient on the petals.” The art teachers words barely registered as she drifted past. She would give out comments to every second or third student. Nice rendering. Excellent use of line. Good observations of shape.

“Oh, Alayne, I love the way you've done the seeds in the pomegranate, lovely attention to detail.”

“Thank you, miss.” he heard her reply, her voice gracious, with a hint of knowing. Like she expected praise. Knew she was worthy of it. Pretty, perfect Alayne, of course her pomegranate seeds were detailed, her english essays were always so well structured, and her maths homework was never done on time, but she still had good marks anyway. 

Harry thought of her hand on their maths teachers arm, and her low, simpering voice, and then he thought of her on her knees at the front of the class, her lips wrapped around their teachers cock, like the slut he knew she was, and he was angry, and his pencil scratched harder across the surface of his paper, until his shading was as black as he could make it.

He wouldn't look up. He wouldn't. 

He chanted it in his head, even as he felt the urge rise up in him. 

Especially as he felt the urge rise up in him. Up, and up and up. 

He had to keep his head down.

But the more he said it, the more he lost the battle. The chant was only desperation talking, as if trying to convince himself that he didn't want to look. That he did fight it a little bit. 

As soon as glanced upwards with a flick of his eyes, he had lost the battle. A simple second of weakness against a forty five minute span of control, and in that second he hated himself.

Her ponytail hung over one shoulder so that hair split over the desk, looking soft and shiny under fluorescent lights, and even as she was bent gently over her page, it didn't take long for her to glance back. Like she knew he was going to be looking. Pretty, perfect Alayne knew the boys always looked at her.

Then her legs started to spread.

Not too much.

Just enough.

Just enough to see the little triangle of white cotton between her thighs. Basic, plain but perfect. Harry could see the soft pout of her lips underneath. Bare lips. A soft bare pussy. She knew he could see. 

She knew what she was showing him, and he hated her, and he had to cross his legs as he grew hard.

And Alayne had a pretty, perfect smile on her face as she saw that.

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Marillon flipped the lid of his lighter, one of his less annoying habits, as Harry sat with him on the bike racks behind the school, as the both of them avoided a dull english lesson.

“She's definitely sucked a dick before, you can tell. The way some girls know to get their tongue around the top you know? Play with your balls a bit as well? Yeah, she was all about that. Knew what she was doing.”

Harry nodded, dragging on the cigarette. He usually only smoked at parties, but Marillon offered.

“So how many times you fucked her in total then?” he asked, as casually as he could.

Marillon smiled, entirely too proud of himself “Five. She's started calling me up every Friday night, when her dad goes out to the pub for a couple hours. She's right into me, wastes no time. I don't even have to fuck around with all the usual awkward shit, she just drags me to her bedroom.”

Harry nodded, staring down at a scuff mark on his trainers, wiping at it with his thumb “So, is she tight then?” he asked, hating how much he wanted to know.

But Marillon suddenly looked awkward, shrugging his shoulders as he flicked the lid of his lighter open and shut, open and shut, a little bit faster “Well, like, we havn't actually...like, done it yet,” and his voice sped up as he saw Harry frown at him “Just like blow jobs, and handies and stuff.”

At that, and odd feeling overcame Harry, giving him pause. 

If Marillon hasn't fucked her, maybe he could be the first.

No. Where had that thought come from. He shook it away as soon as it had came. He didn't even know if she was a virgin. She didn't act like one.

He knew she wanted him, he knew she was a slut, so maybe he did want to fuck her. That didn't mean much.  
It didn't mean she was as special as she thought she was.

“You fucking liar,” Was all he ended up saying amidst all these thoughts, shaking his head, not angry in the least. He should have known better to take Marillons boasts for any value.

“Hey, I didn't lie, it's not like I specifically said that I had fucked her,”

“Yes, you did, word for word-”

“I did not, I said 'fucking around with' not 'fucked' it's different,”

“Yeah, well, you didn't go out of your way to say you hadn't actually fucked her, did you?”

Click open, click shut, click open, click shut went his lighter as Marillion went on the defensive “Oi, nah, it's not like we're never going too! Early days, mate, early days. Give me another couple weeks, I'll have had her every which way, mark my words.”

“Yeah, well, call me when it happens.” Harry said disparagingly, scooping up his bag from the ground and dropped his cigarette to the pavement, snuffing it out with his foot.

He decided to ditch the rest of his afternoon classes, and ended up walking some way down into town. There wasn't much to do here, besides get a pastie from the bakery, and wander through the meagre amount of shops there were. 

Westfield was mostly empty, only old people and mums with screaming toddlers gracing the shopping centre halls at this time of day. He'd pulled off his school shirt and stuffed it in his bag, just wearing the plain shirt he had on underneath. He often skipped classes, and sometimes people called his aunt, recognised him, decided to stick their nose in his business, as if they cared if he missed fifth period english or not. He hated this town sometimes. It was claustrophobic. He knew every single person and place and shop and cafe, walkway, park, pub and more. Nothing was new, and it all stood still.

Except for her.

Alayne was new.

He went to the food court and got some chips from McDonalds that were too soggy and over salted. He browsed through the DVD section in Hmv, like he didn't just download everything he watched. He looked at some Nikes in the shoe shop that his aunt would never let him buy.

He was walking by Ann Summers, sneaking a glance at the window display of a tan woman with pushed up breasts in a barely there bra, and Harry jumped, almost guiltily, as he almost ran into a man exiting the shop.

“Sorry,” he blurted out quickly, coming face to face with Petyr Baelish, the both of them looking as surprised as each other.

“Oh...Harry, was it?” Mr Baelish's smile reached him first as he recognised him, while Harry's smile back came with forced politeness.

“Yeah, hey,” he said, glancing down to see a bag in the mans hand. As he was quite a bit taller than Baelish, without meaning too, Harry's eyes settled on the pink lace hidden inside.

He forced his eyes back up to make eye contact.

“Fancy seeing you here. Shouldn't you be in school?” Came the almost amused question.

Harry shuffled on his feet “Didn't feel well.” was the only thing he thought to say, his eyes once again darting down to the bag. 

“Really? A little retail therapy to cure what ails you?”

Harry could hear in the tone that he wasn't believed, but it also didn't seem if he cared either. So Harry laughed and nodded, hoping to get away quickly. What was he doing, buying pink lacey things from Ann Summers? He didn't have a wife. A girlfriend maybe? But that would be talk of the town, if that were the case. Though Harry supposed he could ask his Aunt. She always knew things like that if they were going on, or else she'd want to know if she didn't already.

Harry tried to see if Mr Baelish looked in any way embarrassed, or awkward, or caught, but no. Just his regular expression. Calm and cool and smiling, as if nothing could phase him. Like it was a setting constantly turned on. A programmed expression. He and Alayne had that in common, Harry thought. She was her fathers daughter.

“Did you want a lift home? I'm on my way out now...considering you're ill, and all.” Mr Baelish offered quite suddenly, with a glint in his eye at that last part.

Harry stood there, moving from foot to foot. He couldn't think of any polite way of saying no, considering they were neighbours.

“Yeah, um, ok. Thanks.”

They walked out of the shopping centre, with sparse and idle chat made between them, as they made their way to the car park.

Harry opened the same passenger side door that Alayne slipped into every day at schools end, and he was awash with such an queer feeling, an uncomfortable realisation of his entire self as he sat their, and Mr Baelish got in across from him and shut the drivers side door.

Why do you kiss your daughter on the lips, the question might have spilled from his lips, if he didn't busy himself with his seat belt, staring straight ahead.

As they drove through the town, the road wet and the sky it's usual dull grey colour, one question Harry did ask. Wether from spite or genuine curiosity, or a mix of both.

“So, Alaynes seeing Marillon then, is she?”

“Who?” Came the reply Harry had wanted to hear.

“Just a boy from school. I heard they were dating,” he deliberately lied, looking for a frown to grace the old mans face. He didn't know quite what his goal was, but it was along the lines of stopping whatever Marillon was trying to achieve.

“Dating? No...no, Alayne hasn't mentioned any such boy. Marillon, did you say? Strange name. I would have remembered it if she had.”

Harry had to suppress a small smile at that. 

After a brief silence, Baelish spoke again, this time somewhat coy “You know, she does talk to me about such things. We're quite close in that way, you see, and I probably shouldn't be saying this to you at all, but,” he paused to shoot Harry a gamesome smile “ I think she may actually have a little bit of crush on you.”

“Oh,” Harry sat there, with the confirmation of what he had thought, as Baelish only drove and smiled.

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“So you're Alayne's a bit of a slut, then.” Myranda announced as she joined him on the gate, holding up her phone.

Harry frowned at the screen shoved in his face, and at her, and at that notion that Alayne was now his. He should never have told her about that car trip, and about Alayne's crush.

But he had needed to tell somebody. 

And some part of him knew that if Myranda was told, the whole school would soon know after. 

He took the phone and stared at what looked like a saved screenshot of a snapchat.

The girls face couldn't be seen, nothing but her bottom lip which was bitten, as her hand was posed almost shyly under her chin, breasts bare , her skin milk white under the flash of the camera.

“Senior boy said he got it from her the other night.” Myranda explained, taking the phone back.

“You don't know it's her,” Harry countered “You can't see her face,”

“Looks like her. You haven't seen her in the changing rooms.”

Harry was aware of all these new rumours surrounding Alayne, spreading thick and fast. Ever since Marillon was the first to boast being invited round to her place, so had a bunch of other boys come forward to claim she'd messed around with them too.

None of them said they'd fucked her though. Harry had asked. They weren't liars like Marillon, admitting it was only hands and mouths, not real fucking.

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Marillon was livid about it all.

“She never said anything to me about other boys!” he fumed, clicking his lighter, the boys once again behind the bike sheds, missing the same class as the week before.

“You saw the snaps? You think it's her?”  
“Yeah, it's her, I recognise her body. Her fucking perfect tits,” he sounded pained “Do you think she's done it with them? Gone all the way?”

He wants to be the first too, Harry realised.

“No ones said they have. You know how girls are, they do everything but, and still get to prance around calling themselves virgins, like they're not sluts just for getting fingered.” 

Marillon nodded, his lighter going click, click, click “True....fucking bitch. You know what she likes to do? Watches herself in some big mirror, hung up right before her bed, I always catch her checking herself out, even when I'm...when we're, you know.”

Harry would have asked for another of the boys cigarettes, if he hadn't looked in such a foul mood.

“So, you going over to her place again this Friday?” he couldn't help but ask.

Marillons nod was almost solemn “Planned to.”

“You going to stop seeing her then?”

Click, click, click, Marillon flicked his lighter without even looking at it.

“We'll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realise the boys attitudes towards Sansa and sex are pretty disgusting, sorry if it's awful to read. 
> 
> Basically, she has a power of them, and they may realise it but not want to admit it. You know. The usual business where boys insist girls are worthless sluts but want them anyway.
> 
> Last part will hopefully be up in a couple weeks, I'm half way through my prac, so that slows writing down, but after that HOLIDAYS.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry stared at the flyer tacked to the light post at the end of his street.

Marillon's face smiled back at him, his school picture. Too much gel in his hair, his smile forced in the way that school pictures encouraged, with his braces strapped across his teeth. He'd only just got them off a few months ago. The bright red typeface was emblazoned above him, and seemed unreal.

Missing.

He'd been missing for five days now.

Harry couldn't connect the face of the boy he used to sit next to in class, bum cigarettes from, to the text. It somehow detached in his mind and he could only stare and feel something, but he couldn't name it. Marillon wasn't quite his friend but he had been something. He had always been there, since primary school. He remembered the time they caught wood lice from behind the school equipment shed, and had scattered them in girls bags, giggling even as they were caught and forced to do rubbish duty together. That was so many years ago now. He didn't know why that was the first memory he thought of, it just was.

A call had come to his house late that Friday night, the night it turned out Marillon had last been seen. Harry's aunt picked up, with Harry vaguely listening in after hearing it was Marillon's mother, asking if Marillon was over his house, wondering if he'd just stopped by for tea without telling anyone. He hadn't come home. Harry's aunt said he wasn't over here, hadn't seen him, sorry.

Try Alayne Baelish, Harry would have said, if his aunt hadn't put the phone down so quickly, but at the time it hadn't seemed that important. If Marillon was over their late, maybe he really had slept with her. He'd probably just get back late, or he'd gone to the pub or something after to brag about it. His Aunt had said his mother didn't sound too worried.

That changed on the weekend, when the missing persons report came on the six o' clock news.

Facebook blew up, memorial posts and status's with prayers from people who barely knew him or liked him. It was all anyone could talk about at school. Nobody had seen him. Nobody could contact him. There were police cars outside his house. It was the kind of drama a small town like this never usually saw, and it was almost off-putting how everybody ate it up. Even his aunt joined the throng of people baking shepherds pie and casseroles for Marillon's family, if only to get a chance to be invited in to chat about new details, to pry their nose in a bit further under the guise of well-wishing.

And now Harry stared at the picture of a boy he could barely say he liked, and he wondered where he was, with a feeling in his stomach he couldn't quite place.

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Harry stared out from behind the lace curtains of his aunts sewing room on the top floor. The room that faced the Baelish's house across the road.

There were police cars outside, and he could see Mr Baelish at the door, as two officers stood on his front step.

He happened to glance up at their top storey window, and he saw Alayne staring down at the officers below her, just as he was. Harry flipped back the curtain and left the room, before she could spot him. He'd begun to think she could sense whenever he looked at her.

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The drama came to a close almost as soon as it started, with Marillon's body found by the end of the week, a couple towns over, an hours drive away.

It wasn't dignified. Half buried under rubbish bags, left in an alley way. Again, watching it all matter of factly spoken about on the news made it seem figmental.The police wrapped up the case quick enough, when they found drugs in his system, and the town was known to be the place kids went when they wanted to buy. You couldn't get pills and coke here, not in their pleasant little town. It was an overdose. He was another teenage victim of bad influence. Peoples curiosity and sympathies now turned to tutting shakes of the head and gentle utterances of 'shame'.

It didn't sit right with Harry though.

Yes, Marillon always talked about doing drugs. He snorted coke at parties, his cousin hooked him up with some pills on the weekend, he'd favourited a few stupid groups on facebook about 'legalising it' but it was all bullshit. That's just what Marillon said. Harry had been their when Marillon had smoked his first joint and almost coughed so much he was sick. Marillon talked a big game but he never backed it up. He didn't even have his licence yet, how did he get to a town an hour away?

 

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“You were the last person to see Marillon, weren't you?”

the question escaped his lips before any kind of sense kicked in, and Alayne looked up from the drink fountain she had been bent over, face slightly alarmed. She licked a drop of water from her lips and tugged at her school skirt, eyes flicking down to the floor.

This wasn't the pleasant conversation or passing banter usually exchanged in the halls, but the question still needed to be asked, and when else had he ever had the chance to speak to her alone, besides these small moments? It was just them, alone, and it was a chance he would finally take.

“Yes,” she said, quite solemnly “How'd you know that?”

“Marillon told me he was going over to yours on Friday night. That you guys were....” he said, leaving the facts hanging in the air, daring her to deny it.

Alayne only nodded “Yeah...yeah, we were.”

“So...what happened? I saw the police outside your house.”

“Mm, we called them. Me and dad. After....after I told him Marillon had comer over that night the news said he'd been missing. I heard it on TV and felt sick.” 

Harry watched as he searched Alayne's face, finally being shown something real. Her voice was small. She seemed smaller somehow. Her arrogance seemed to melt from her, and alone in this hallway, cornered, she wasn't perfect, or teasing, she was something else entirely.

“He came over...we....we messed around. We drank a bit, some whisky from my dad's liquor cabinet. We've been doing it every other week it was just...it was stupid, and I didn't want to tell anybody, because it's embarrassing and I had to say it all in front of the officers and my dad, but it was...it was my fault.”

Her voice cracked and there was a tremor to her lips. Tears threatening to spill. It made Harry shift, uncomfortable, in the way that a girls tears always did.

“It wasn't your fault,” he said, immediately, as it seemed the thing to say. 

That seemed to break her, hand coming up to her face, to wipe at tears, to hide a sob.

“It was, it was,” she muttered “He wanted to....he wanted to...we never had sex before, but I knew he wanted too and I always said no but we just kept drinking, and he kept asking and asking, and said he loved me and wanted to be my boyfriend, and it would be special but I just...I still said no and he was so upset. He asked what we we're doing, if I even liked him, and I said...I said I liked someone else,”

she paused at that. Still looking at him. Harry knew it was him she liked, and he couldn't hold her gaze.

“And that....I shouldn't have said that. He was so....he left so angry and he was crying, and I was crying, but I didn't think....I didn't think he'd do anything so stupid.” she sniffed “The police told me he'd gone across town to get drugs and that he overdosed and....and they don't....they said they couldn't tell if it was...if he did it on purpose or-”

The words stopped as she began crying in earnest now, the hem of her cardigan sleeve doing it's best to halt the tears, and Harry thought it best if he hugged her. Whatever it was about her that had kept her distant seemed to dissipate as she leant into him, body crumpling into his. The first time he'd felt her. The first time she felt real.

“It wasn't your fault.” he said, whispered it into her hair as she cried on his shoulder “It wasn't your fault.” as it seemed the thing to say.

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It's a shame how people are forgotten. How the world just continues without them, adjusting to their absence with an almost hurtful ease. Students got used to Marillon's name being skipped over during role call. The plastic flowers left at his grave started to grow mould from incessant rain. Harry started buying his own cigarettes. The only reminder of the towns loss was Marillon's mother, sometimes seen down the local supermarket with her hair un-combed and her gaze unfocused, seemingly unbothered to wear anything but loose home clothes and slippers. Harry had listened to a girl in class, who worked as a checkout chick, recount the story of when the woman had burst into tears when she'd fumbled with her purse and dropped a bunch of coins across the shop floor. She'd told it like it was meant to be funny, then asked who'd won dancing with the stars last night, since she'd missed the episode.

Harry still couldn't gauge how much Marillon's death meant to him. If he ever caught himself walking past the bike racks, or heard the click of a lighter at the bus station, he would remember Marillon, and rather than sadness, sometimes it was simply the feeling of strangeness that entered his mind. Reflecting on how someone was here and now they were not. Funny how someones absence seemed to take up space in itself. The very fact they were gone, weighted like a real presence. Sometimes Harry thought he should feel more deeply about this loss, as a death was meant to be sad. The saddest thing there was, surely, so why did it feel like a strange kind of nothing?

It was at this point that Harry usually stopped thinking about it.

Especially as he knocked on Alayne's door.

He heard the patter of her feet on wood before she opened the front door, a sweet smile to greet him. Her father would be out at this time, she said. Down the pub. The Friday night slot someone else had once taken up, but Harry stepped inside and told himself not to think about it.

“Did you want something to drink?” she offered straight away, as Harry stepped inside and stared around her house. He knew they'd only moved here this year, but even now the furniture seemed sparse. There was still two or three boxes shoved to the side of the dining area, which was covered in papers and files with a hastily set up computer and modem, that still looked un-packed. The were small signs of life, coats hung up on the wall hooks, plates drying by the sink, but the place did not seemed lived in. There weren't pillows on sofas, there weren't picture frames of family, or flowers in vases, or any art on the walls. He looked around their space and could not feel them.

Alayne grabbed them cans of coke, which she poured into glasses, even though Harry would have been fine with the can.

“Thanks,” he took it, and she smiled.

“You don't want anything in it then?” and she opened up one of the high kitchen cabinets, where an assortment of bottles where “Whisky, brandy, rum or vodka?”

The brief thought that her father might be some kind of alcoholic crossed his mind, but Harry still found it in himself to laugh at Alayne's fiendish grin. 

“Rum then,” he put his glass forward, and she was almost too generous with both their portions.

He had ideas of starting out on the sofa. Watching TV. Sitting close to her, gently shifting even closer, leaning gently into her, placing a hand on her leg, eyes glued to the screen until there was that subtle shift in posture that would let him know they could kiss. Harry had done this with enough girls and it never needed to be said, there was always just that point where he'd know.

Those ideas weren't necessary when Alayne began down the hall, looking over her shoulder “Come and see my room then.” and of course he followed.

He pretended to look at the few books and trinkets she had on a bare shelf, at what little actually existed in her plain white room. The metal bed frame, the floral duvet with the pink sheets, the mirror hung on the wall, the dresser with her makeup and her perfume and clothes draped over the back of the chair.

But Alayne drifted past him, they rubbed shoulders, the conversation paused and the need to pretend like this wasn't going to happen melted away when he leant in to kiss her.

Usually he had to dip his head to kiss a girl, but Alayne was tall enough to simply meet her lips with ease, and she kissed him right back, tasting like rum and coke. She must have put her glass down at some point, as her arms wrapped over his shoulders, but Harry still had his in his hand, and as he moved against her he felt her jump slightly in alarm.  
“Shit” he cursed, embarrassed, as he saw he'd spilt his coke down the back of her legs and skirt, but Alayne only ended up giggling.

“Nervous?” she asked.

“No,” he staunchly denied, turning slightly red, putting his glass down on the dresser and going to kiss her again to prove it. He took her face in his hands and slipped his tongue between her lips, kissing her with a force he hoped read as passion. He felt her giggle against his lips, wriggling her way away, still keeping herself close.

“Well, now you've made me all sticky, so I'd better take this off now, don't you think?”

Harry watched as she tucked her fingers into the elastic of her skirt and shimmied it down over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. 

From an explicitly remembered detail that had never quite left his mind, Harry half expected her to be already bare, but instead he found pale pink lace knickers. A little bow on their front. Slightly sheer. He wanted to remember the sight exactly as it was, as he grew hard under his jeans.

Alayne's hand felt it's way over his erection, rubbing at his front with a boldness he wasn't used too but spurned him on all the same.

Slut, he thought, his own hands going up to grip at her breasts under her shirt, as hers were already tugging at his belt. He couldn't help it, it's what she was. What else would you call a girl like this? All the memories of what Marillon had once shared about her flooded his mind and he grew even more excited. He felt over her bra, pawing roughly at her breast, annoyed for it being in the way, before moving towards the bed. She guided him, leaning herself back until she lay down, propped up by her elbows as Harry let his jeans fall to the floor, stepping out of them as he climbed over her.

He shuddered as he ground his erection up between her legs, over the thin lace covering her pussy. He was kissing her but that was a second thought, his hips thrusting, his hands trying to remove her shirt.

She pushed him away with a gentle hand in order to sit up and take it off in one fluid motion, and Harry's eyes fell on her breasts, cupped in the same matching pink lace. 

He couldn't ignore her eyes, even as she sat there more naked than he'd ever seen her, as they really were so brilliantly blue. She had a hunger in them, she wanted him, he saw it as his cock twitched at the thought of having those eyes looking up at him as she sucked his cock. She smiled and he smiled back, and he couldn't say if that triggered the thought, but as her hand went behind her back to un-clasp her bra, Harry stared at the lace.

The soft pink shade of the lace which he'd seen before.

She threw away the material and her breasts were bare and perfect, and his hand went to feel the smoothness, rub her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, lovely and pink in itself, but as they connected in another kiss he hated to think of her father. Her father and that shopping bag and that pink lace he's seen, he was sure he'd seen it right.

He forced the thought away, disgusting and strange and dirty and obviously wrong, because what kind of father buys his daughter underwear? Sheer lace underwear. 

The kind that kisses his daughter on the lips, a terrible part of his mind answered. 

But then Alayne crawled up atop his lap, and sat her her ass down on his erection, rubbing herself against it as her arms went around his neck, her mouth attaching itself to suck at his neck.

Did her father teach her to be such a slut, that awful voice would not shut up, and Harry shuddered for two reasons at once, his need to fuck, the feeling of her above his cock, and the images of Alayne pressing her lips against her fathers every day. Every single day he'd seen her. 

“Do you like this?” she asked against the skin of his neck, teasingly.

“Yeah,” he muttered in truth, wishing his misgivings would leave him. Was these sick thoughts that shouldn't have entered his head, or were they sick facts he shouldn't ignore?

No, no, god no, jesus what was wrong with him. A father and a daughter, the idea was so terrible he felt guilt over having it. Was he sick himself for even letting his mind wander there?

“You like this?” he asked back, pushing his cock up roughly against the part of her lips through fabric.

“Yes,” Alayne giggled “Do you like my body?”

She sat back to let him drag his gaze across her, from the thighs splayed either side of his hips, up her smooth stomach, perky breasts, her perfectness and he was reminded of the Alayne in class. The Alayne that knew how good she was, how pretty she was.

“S'alright,” he murmured “Can I see your pussy?”

She seemed to find that funny too “Yes,” but then she shifted, moved herself off of him, breasts bouncing as she got up to stand around the side of the bed “But I want you to lye the other way, here, face this end,” 

Harry sat up, watching her, watching her ass, as she directed him.

“Why?”

She shrugged playfully, not in the least bit trying to hide herself as she stood there.

Then Harry looked at the wall across from the bed and he smirked “You know, Marillon told me you like to watch yourself.”

If the mention of Marillon had been in poor taste, Alayne didn't seem to react to it, eyes flitting up to meet Harry's.

“You boys talked about me?”

Harry didn't answer as he shifted to lye back with his head down by the end of the bed, with Alayne moving around to stand over him, so he could look up and see her upside down, her long hair falling down around his face, those blue eyes glittering.

“A bit. So it's true?”

He watched her glance at the mirror “Love it,” she said, staring at her own reflection.

She went around the bed, her fingers pulling down her underwear, bending over in front of him so Harry could full appreciate her ass as she did so. When she turned around to up and straddle him again, Harry almost groaned at the sight of her bare pussy alone. Marillon was right, there wasn't a hair down their. She was soft and pale and when her legs spead over the top of him, he could see how pink her slit was.

She lifted his shirt only to lay her hands across his stomach as she dragged her hips over the front of his underwear, his cock painfully hard beneath them. 

“You liked me then?” she breathed, her body fluid and mesmerising above him as his hands went to her hips “You wanted to know what it was like with me?”

Harry didn't sense any shame in her. Didn't know girls to really talk like this. 

“You like me too,” he had to say “I've always known you liked me.”

“Really?” she smiled, and he saw her glance up at the mirror instead of him. Harry didn't think her smile had left her since she'd opened the door to let him in. He didn't know why it annoyed him now. The little laugh under her breath that accompanied it.

“Yeah, it's why you're always looking at me.”

“That's because you were always looking at me.” she countered.

No, Harry frowned, hands now digging into her skin, gripping harder. She couldn't deny it, all that teasing, all her games, the photos. She wanted him, she was fucking him, it hadn't even been hard.

“It's why you didn't fuck Marillon....why you didn't fuck any of those other guys. Its because you were....”But as he spoke he looked up at her. Looked at her expression and the words died on his tongue. She was laughing, eyebrows raised.

She was laughing at him. 

“Because I was what? Waiting for you?”

Yes, he would have said a minute ago. Now he only stared up at her, blank, re-assessing, and anger unfurling in his stomach the more he stared at that condescending smile that wouldn't leave her face, even as she still gyrated above him.

“Sorry, but I can't let you fuck me. You're not allowed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Harry frowned.

“It means my pussy's taken....only one persons allowed to fuck it, and that persons not you.”

She spoke matter of factly with a sugar sweet voice, like this was a game. She was always playing games, Harry thought.

“Who?” he demanded. The boy she'd sent that picture too? Another boy in their class, he hated them, he hated her, and he needed to know.

Her look was so coquettish, even as she had to have sensed Harry's shift into that of a boy spurned, and all she did was whisper a light little word.   
“Secret,”

“You're a slut,” his voice spat, anger over taking him “Just a fucking slut,” and Alayne let out a little cry as she was thrown off and pushed down onto her back, where Harry pinned her down.

She pushed against him but he was thicker than her, with stronger arms, a stronger rage, as he ground his hips hard into her, spreading her legs and thrusting hard, holding her down with his weight.

“Fuck me,” he asked, pleaded. Let this end, he wanted it to end. He'll get over it all once he fucked her, she won't full his thoughts once he'd had her. She thought she was so special and perfect, that he loved her, but he didn't. Not one bit, and he wanted to let her know that. He could fuck her, like she'd always wanted, because she couldn't deny it, only lie about it, she wanted to fuck him, then he'd leave her because that's what she deserved. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, you fucking slut, he may have spoken out loud , he wasn't sure, and she yelled at him to stop but he decided he wasn't going to hear her.

He reached a hand down to pull at his underwear, get his cock free, even as Alayne's legs were kicking, struggling, but as he slid them down just an inch he felt a blinding pain smash it's way across his head, and he was wet and the pain was swearing and he screamed out, and for a second it didn't make any sense, he couldn't even see for the stars in his eyes.

“Daddy,” was what he heard, as he felt Alayne push her way away from him, and Harry stumbled off the bed himself, hand clasping his head.

He looked up, breathing hard, and Mr Baelish stared him down. 

The wetness was the remnants of rum and coke dripping down his face, his bare torso, and when Harry's mind wasn't working, he could only stare at the blood and shards of glass that seemed to come away with his hand as it shook.

Alayne was naked, stood besides her father, and his hand moved to draw her closer. Caring. Affectionate, concerned, and Harry backed away.

“What the fuck...what the-”

“You heard her, boy,” Came Mr. Baelish's unfazed tones “You're not allowed to fuck her.”

Harry stared, a sick feeling rising in his gut, head throbbing, blood dripping down into his eye as he felt dizzy, and catching sight of himself in the mirror Harry saw that his injury looked even worse than it felt. 

“And what, you are?” he shot back, his voice stammering with fear, adrenaline, disgust. It didn't make sense but it did.

Mr. Baelish's mouth twitched up into a smile.

“I made her promise.”

Harry pushed past the both of them, sprinting through the door. He saw a door that had been shut before now open, and seeing inside he saw a window, not a mirror, but it was only one of the many thoughts that raced through his head, that he had no time to reflect on as he stumbled on shaking legs but it was all for not. He got no further than the hall before he felt a grip on the back of his shirt pull him down with rough hands. Harry hit the hardwood floors, his head slamming down so hard he shrieked with a voice he didn't recognise, tears springing into his eyes as he felt a weight on top of him, felt something wrap around his neck, pink lace.

“You....you,” he struggled to speak, hands going up to wrench away the fabric, but his hands were gripped and pulled away by a force he couldn't see.

“Only daddy's allowed to fuck me,” her voice said, assured him he wasn't wrong in all the sick thoughts he'd thought about her, her and her father “All you boys turn out no good. The only man a girls got who truly loves her is her daddy,” he heard her breath, struggle on top of him, even as he felt her wring the fabric tighter and tighter.

Stop he might have said. Help, no, no, no, please, no, help, stop, all the words that wanted to spill out couldn't as his wind pipe closed and he felt his head lighten and his chest burn, his body losing this final fight, Harry's eyes managed to focus through a haze of pained tears. His head was pressed to the hardwood floors, turned to the direction of a drawer, a cabinet, he didn't know, but he could see under it. Under that small crack, the only spot he could focus on. The spot he felt he was meant to focus on.

A lighter.

And with the last thought he'd ever have, Harry wondered if they'd find his body in an alleyway too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cest finis.

**Author's Note:**

> This will most likely be a 2 or 3 part fic, and the formats very quick and blunt. The way I imagine Harry's mind. More observational than focused on his feelings.
> 
> This will also be very smutty, and very wrong. You know you're here for it.


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